Spirit of Soldier
by Adude
Summary: Thanks to a certain sneaky someone, Scout gets to find out why Soldier is insane... as well as a few hundred other things he wishes he didn't know. Clones explain, all the feels, lots of laughs and serious times too.
1. Challenge Accepted

While those who lived to tell the following tale remember it all too clearly, none of them can agree on when exactly it started. For some it was during those illegal experiments in Australia, while others insist it was when the Engineers started questioning things they knew they shouldn't have.

Most of them blame Scout. He blames Sniper, who blames Spy, who admits to nothing.

Regardless, things long ago sent into motion were headed inexorably to crash. Whether it was fate, the decisions of dealers in secrets and shadows, or the ultimate design of something even more sinister remains up to interpretation. The result was the same and the scars are there to stay.

The beginning of the end began at the end of the week. It was a Saturday morning. Mist took shelter in the mountain trees from the rising sun as it struck the low clouds with gold and red. Birds were beginning their daily ritual of staking claim and repairing their homes. A small flock of ravens were huddled around a series of cement and steel buildings in their quest for food—

—only to be startled into the air by a man butchering 'Reveille' on a broken bugle.

The twisted shrieks of the military wake-up call echoed across the wilderness. At ground zero, the barracks of BLU Inc, seven very upset figures emerged from their dens and headed to the training field. This consisted of a ¼ mile running track, weights, an obstacle course, a mountain path, and a giant ditch (for digging exercises of course).

They were dressed a little too lightly for the cold, wearing white sleeveless shirts, black hiking boots and gray sweatpants. Their clothes came standard issue and one-size-fits-all, which was necessary as they had every body-type, size and accent the world had to offer. The tallest and biggest was a Russian dubbed Heavy, and his smaller, older companion a German they called Medic. The slender French fellow was Spy, the shorter Texan the Engineer, and... that walking bundle of scarves and coats over there was probably the enigmatic thing called the Pyro.

They, too, filled the morning with their chorus.

"Mother o' mercy! Can't he play the bloody thing _in tune?!_"

"Spah 'round here."

"Bonjour to you, too."

"Carry me, doktor."

"NEIN!"

"Hmmfmmm ffmmm hmm!"

A lanky, middle-aged man stood silent watch. His jaws were graced with the most rugged sideburns outside of his native land of Australia, which was an achievement. Classified as the Sniper, his piercing gaze raked the windows and doorways. No movement so far. Maybe they got lucky this time and their one absent teammate had slept in. Maybe just this once they could train without trouble and go about their day like civilized—

"AaaaAAAWWW MY FREAKIN' GOD!"

"Gyaaaaah," Sniper groaned. Scout was awake and on time. He was on time every week, and every week he announced his displeasure as long as his lungs would allow.

"WHAT GODDAMN BULLSHIT IS DIS?! IT'S 6:00AM IN THE FREAKIN' MORNING! I HAVEN'T EVEN EATEN YET, WHO THE HELL HAS TIME FOR BREAKFAST, AND I CAN'T FEEL MY TOES!"

Scout was the youngest and by far the loudest. Hailing from Boston and in his early twenties, the very thin, very fast baseball enthusiast made sure that he didn't suffer the outrage of early morning exercise alone. Seeing the Sniper was standing a ways from the group and was determined to avoid meeting his eyes, Scout picked him as that day's complaint department.

"GOD, I FREAKIN' HATE DIS!" he yelled, trotting over to the Aussie, who had no escape. "Dis is our ONE GODDAMN DAY OFF, and HE has us doin' DRILLS!" Scout said, pointing at the rooftop where 'Reveille' had made its last pitiful cry.

"Goddamn crazy-ass SOLDIER and his crazy-ass BULLSHIT! Man, did, did you know, dat he had me doin' duck-walks for a mile last week!? A FREAKIN' MILE?!"

"You pissed him off," Sniper said, pointedly plugging his ears. It didn't help. "An' ya still did it, didn't ya?"

"YEAH I did, 'cuz I'm awesome!" Scout replied, beaming and puffing out his chest. "Bet you couldn't do dat, huh? I bet I'm the only one! HE damn well couldn't!"

Sniper tried to reach him. "No, I mean—'ang on, lad, ya still took 'is orders, and—"

"He can't even do HALF of what we can!" Scout went on, oblivious to the interruption. "Swear to freakin' GOD, he makes me do ONE MORE FREAKIN' PUSH-UP, I'M GONNA—"

"Yeah? Whot? You'll do whot?" Sniper snarled back. Though his voice lacked the same volume as Scout's, it held such menace that the kid shut right up. Sniper seized his chance and said what everyone else was thinking.

"Every bloody Saturday you get out here, bitchin' an' moanin', and then when Soldier shows up, lo an' behold, you fall in line wit' the rest of us. You're always yammerin' on an' on about how great you are an' how you're a rebel an' all that, but for Chris' sakes, kid, you're not foolin' anyone! Give it up already!"

"Ah... wh-... I... HUH!?" Scout stammered through Sniper's speech, but Sniper wasn't finished yet.

"Right. Let me try and explain this so you can understand," he said, putting his hands on Scout's bony shoulders and speaking slowly and clearly, "All your complainin' ever does is make him punish us. He's our leader, not you, an' that's not gonna change. Unless you're fixin' to actually say any of this _to his face_, shut up, an' get this over with."

He let his arms fall back to his sides and started to walk to the rest of his team, who were forming a line according to height. "Please. For us," he finished, his expression a mix of exhaustion and disgust.

Scout blinked many times. He stood there a few minutes—perhaps the longest he's ever held still—his jaw fixed at a confused pout while he tried to get his brain to function.

"...What just happened?"

A moment later, double-doors burst open with a clatter. An exceptionally muscular man in his late-thirties marched into the training area.

"Goooooood morning, ladies!" he said.

"HMMF FMMFFM!"

"And Pyro, of course." The man approached them through the fog. His broad shoulders sported the clasps of his military dress uniform. His tie was perfect, his tunic a sky blue, and his black boots had been polished until they shone.

While these things left the desired impression, the most striking thing about him was the helmet on his head. It wasn't polished at all, its straps were old and dangling, and it was covered in dents. Stranger still, it didn't fit; his helmet covered his eyes completely.

For the men on the field this was nothing new. It was boring, draining, agonizing routine. They were far more preoccupied with how tired they were, how cold it was, and the riding crop in their leader's hand. Despite the absurd headgear, he radiated power and command with every step, and apparently could see where he was going just fine.

This was Jane Doe, the first member of the BLU mercenary team. A man constantly at the top of the scoring charts, who held the record for dominations all these years in a row, and whose KDR was nothing short of ridiculous.

Soldier.

"AtteeeeeeeeeeeenTION!" he barked, his voice as smooth as sandpaper that smoked too much. At the order, his troops immediately straightened their backs. Scout, still pouting, was among them as well in his assigned position next to Spy and a pile of scarves and coats that said 'hudduh'. Scout thought it looked like a fuzzy starfish.

"MAGGOTS! Yesterday was an ABYSMAL FAILURE! NOT to mention the day before THAT, AND THE DAY BEFORE THAT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS, MAGGOT?!" he yelled in their faces, focusing the last question at Demoman.

"Ach—?"

"OF COURSE YOU DON'T BECAUSE MAGGOTS ONLY SUCK AT THINGS AND THEN DIE! As your REWARD for sucking so UNBELIEVABLY HARD, Sargent Spank and I will PT you until you SWEAT ALL THE SUCK OUT OF YOUR VERY SOULS!"

He emphasized his final point by striking his palm with his riding crop. This brought out a collective groan from the 'maggots'.

"WHINING IS WEAKNESS ENTERING THE BODY, EVERYONE DOWN!"

Soldier sneered with some satisfaction as they held push-up position on their hands and toes. "DOWN!" he commanded. All of them obediently touched their chests to the ground then came back up and yelled in unison, "ONE, SIR!"

"DOWN!"

"TWO, SIR!"

"DOWN!"

"THREE, SIR!"

Wait... someone was still standing up.

"HOOOOOOOLD IT," Soldier said, trotting up to the mutineer. "I SMELL DISSENSION! SCOUT! WHAT IS YOUR MALFUNCTION, ROOKIE?!"

Scout was indeed simply standing there. He was hunched over and hugging himself, trying not to shiver. Soldier was over twice his size and looming over him so closely that Scout could actually look into his cold blue eyes under that stupid helmet.

Also his breath was terrible and Soldier spat when he was angry.

"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, MAGGOT! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN HOW TO DO THESE!?"

Scout looked away and muttered something, but he didn't move.

"LESS TALK MORE _OBEY ME!_" Soldier yelled all the louder. "Awfully SELFISH of you to make your TEAMMATES work while you GAG YOUR LOLLIES!"

"Auch, Scoot," said Demoman in his Scottish accent, "Don' make him angry again, aye? Jus' git this doon so we can git back ta bed."

Soldier nodded. "You should listen to him! He's an endangered species!"

The entire BLU company was very fortunate that Soldier had his gaze fixed on Scout. Demoman had flicked off the Soldier and mouthed 'Ka-BEWM!' while he wasn't looking.

Scout glanced at something or someone to his left, then he said, "Shove it up your ass."

Soldier's eyes widened just a touch. The only one who could tell was Scout. The others showed their irritation with hisses or snarls as their arms began to shake. Once again, the fastest member of their team had spoken without thinking and made training all the worse for them.

Soldier came closer. "_What did you say to me, son?_" he growled, turning Scout's chin up to face him with Sgt. Spank.

Scout took one last look at Sniper and steeled himself. He pushed the riding crop aside and yelled, "I said, SHOVE IT up your FLABBY OLD ASS!"

Silence. Engineer turned to watch with mild interest, Pyro 'hudduh'd' quietly with concern, and Spy actually dropped his cigarette in surprise. Sniper was pretending very hard he wasn't there while Medic said something unsavory in German.

Heavy couldn't care less. He was secretly lying on his belly instead of holding himself up.

Soldier leaned back and cracked his neck once to the side. "Mm. That hurts my feelings, son," he said, his voice a low, gravelly growl. Faster than Scout could react, he punched the kid in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"YOU GUTLESS LITTLE PUNK!" Soldier roared. Scout was doubled over from the hit, gasping for air. He tried to stand back up, but Soldier was on him in a flash, kicking him down into the dirt.

"HALF of everything that went wrong was YOUR FAULT! I saw you ignore that Spy 3 DAMN TIMES IN A ROW! YOU'RE MORE USELESS THAN A DRUNKEN LLAMA IN ROLLERSKATES _AND MY ASS IS FLAWLESS!_"

Soldier ended his rant by striking his own hindquarters with Sgt. Spank without flinching.

"BLAMMO! Now GET back up so you can get DOWN and DO PUSH-UPS LIKE A BIG BOY!"

Scout had landed on his side from the kick. The frozen gravel scratched and dug into his skin and he could barely breathe. He rolled onto his elbows and then his hands and knees, gripping the rocks between his fingers. Tears of pain and embarrassment stung his eyes and his throat was closing and his lungs and ribs hurt and this was so wrong but _no one was saying anything!_

His teammates' collective apathy enraged him the most, which gave him a sudden burst of energy. Scout got his feet under him and jumped up despite his painfully protesting body. Once he gained his balance, he swung a right-hook into Soldier's jaw.

Soldier took the hit, then simply turned back to face him like nothing happened. "SIGH. Weak. I keep telling you to lead with your _hip_, son."

Scout gaped for a second, then swung a left. This time Soldier adjusted his stance so the kid's knuckles landed squarely against his helmet.

_CLANG!_

Something inside his fist broke. Scout froze. Medic called him a "Dummkopf."

The Scout was not known for his discipline. In fact, 'disciplined' would never be a word used to describe him ever. Words like arrogant, brash, hyper, ignorant and narcissistic were far more likely. Neither was he strong, this one, but he was proud, and it was pride that forced him to hide what just happened, to slowly lower his fist and hold Soldier's stare without looking away.

Still, the street-wise, smart-mouthed Scout couldn't find anything to say until Soldier lifted his helmet to look at him. "Are you done, soldier?" he said.

"We. Are NOT. YOUR! SOLDIERS!" Scout yelled when he was able to inhale again. "We're freakin' MERCENARIES! WE DON'T WORK FOR YOU! YOU CAN'T ORDER US TO DO SHIT!"

For an instant, Soldier looked like he might take Scout seriously, regarding the young man with a curious expression. "Is that what you think?" he said, then he let his helmet fall back over his eyes and snorted, his breath fogging and joining the mist around them. "Well then, it is only fair we put it to a vote! Everyone UP!"

The others stood up with some relief, stretching their arms and chests before standing back at attention. "Those among you who agree with Scout can join us on a 20-mile run! The rest need only say, 'Sir, thank you, sir!' and enjoy the rest of your day off!"

It was unanimous. "SIR, THANK YOU, SIR!" said six men and a Pyro without hesitation.

Soldier grinned and saluted them. "DiiiiiSMISSED!"

Scout almost didn't have time to be shocked before they disbanded. "You gotta be kiddin' me..." he said, watching those he'd almost kind of considered buddies sometimes abandon him so he could run all day with General Crazy-Pants and his whip.

The Engineer smiled pleasantly and waved. "Start prayin', boy."

Sniper only shook his head and turned away. Scout watched him go, glaring daggers into his back.

Spy, oddly enough, remained on the sidelines to watch.

"Hmfmm FMM fhhmfm..."

"Is bed time, doktor."

"NICHTS DA!"

"MEDIIIIC!" Soldier called.

"UWAAAAAH!"

"Heal up Mr. Army Of One over here then throw him back onto the track in five," Soldier said, patting the Bostonian's head affectionately. "We'll make this as fair as we can, ok, kid?"

Scout threw off Soldier's hand. "Are you seriously challengin' _me_ to a _marathon_, bro?" he asked, lightly holding his left forearm. How could someone so much bigger and older hope to win?

Soldier chuckled. "Try to keep up."


	2. Same Differences

The mysterious man known as the Spy stealthily smoked an inscrutable cigarette, thinking his unknowable Spy thoughts. He was a tall, slim fellow with some muscle on him but no real definition. Along with his exercise uniform, he was wearing black gloves and a blue balaclava that covered his whole head from the neck up save his eyes and mouth.

The mask made exertion difficult and uncomfortable, but this was hardly ever a problem. Spy did not overcome his foes with strength or sheer firepower. Instead he used subtle subterfuge, disguising as the enemy team before frying their machines or shooting them when they weren't looking.

Or, should that fail, he would stab them in the back with a knife (or a dagger (or an icicle (or a sharpened candy cane like this one time TFI was 'feeling festive'))).

However, for a man who made a living as a whisper and an unpleasant memory, this Spy had one inconveniently unforgettable feature; his eyes were red.

Not the kind of red that indicates a lack of sleep. That would be the bags under his eyes. No, this Spy's irises were a clear crimson, making his stare that much more intense as he watched the field. Soldier and Scout had picked running along the mountain trail over doing the ¼ mile track 80 times. For the moment they were far away, and Spy was left alone to wait.

At the slightest sound behind him, Spy turned his surreptitious head to the side. He'd recognized the German from the sound of his footsteps, as was the case of people forced to tolerate each other in close quarters. It was how near the Medic got that made him nervous enough to double-check.

Medic yawned. "Vhat are you shtill doing out here in ze cold?" he asked, wrapping his arms around himself. He'd put on his white lab coat after healing Scout, but even that was not enough to keep him warm.

"Scout and Soldier are trying to _intimidate each ozer_," Spy replied, adjusting himself on the bench to keep Medic in his peripheral vision. "Zere is nozing not hilarious about zat. What about you?" he said, taking a puff from his seemingly inexhaustible supply of cigarettes. "Came back out to watch ze fun?"

"Ach, no," Medic said, rolling his eyes. "Zey are going to hurt zemeselves somehow. I might as vell be out here and avake to heal zem inshtead of being dragged out of bed."

Spy focused on him. "Hmm. Why not ask ze Engineer to place a dispenser here?"

Medic grimaced at the idea. "Ah... let's not... dishturb him, ja? Unless you vant to talk to him?" Medic asked, looking back at the barracks behind them apprehensively.

Spy chuckled. "Sank you, but I shall pass. I was wondering how you felt about him," the Frenchman said in a rare moment of honesty maybe. "Just our luck to get ze broken Engineer, unh?"

"Vhat are you talking about, Shpy?" Medic said, taking off his glasses. "Ze clones are perfect replicas of ze originals. I have verified it myself." After cleaning his glasses on his coat, the Medic put them back on and turned to face Spy, daring him to challenge this. Spy got a good look at the doctor's own set of red eyes.

Spy's perfectly groomed eyebrow raised skeptically. "Shouldn't you be saying 'us clones', Herr Doktor?" he said a little bitterly. "And shouldn't you be upstairs, cuddling wiz your beefy boyfriend?"

"Vhat?!" Medic yelled, taken aback.

"Well, you said it yourself, non?" Spy said, giving him a Cheshire cat smile. "We are exact copies, and you must have noticed how close ze RED Heavy and Medic are."

The BLU Medic lost color in his cheeks. "Zey—I—but—I don't—" he sputtered, much to Spy's delight.

"Do not worry about it!" he said, putting his hands up in mock pacification. "It is ze middle-ish 20th Century, oui? No one cares about zat sort of sing... Even if you like zem, eh... ze size of a small planet."

"Shpy..."

"I do not judge, make no mistake! Ze Heavy is... strong! And... his face is..." Spy paused, waving his hands and making a show of looking for the right wording, "...relatively in ze proper order? And he makes a lot of money! He certainly likes _you_..." Spy scooted closer so he could whisper. "Between you and me, zough, I'd put him on a diet, ozerwise he might crush you while he—"

"SHUT UP!" Medic finally yelled, slamming his fist on the bench. "_IDIOT!_ Ze ONLY REASON I get anyvhwere NEAR zat—zat valking _crime against anatomy_ is because Herr Soldier ORDERS ME TO!"

Medic's face was completely red. His hair was disheveled and he was breathing hard, fogging up his glasses. Spy was leaning away from him, but he looked amused by the outburst. "So. It seems we are not ze same as our originals after all, yes?"

Medic blinked, then cleared his throat. He stood up and readjusted his hair and outfit, then cleaned his glasses a second time. "Ja... All right, you win Herr Shpy," he sighed. "But I only concede your point if you promise you vill shtop shpreading rumors about me and Heavy!"

"Honh honh honh..." Spy quietly laughed. "Once it stops being funny."

"_Fess_."

Meanwhile, the Heavy in question was standing at the barrack doors. In his massive hands was a tray with two cups of hot chocolate, which he had prepared thinking the Medic would be cold. Instead what he'd overheard stopped him in his tracks, and when Medic and Spy were finished talking he went back inside without a word.

"How is ze race going?" Medic asked after a time, shivering and stomping his boots.

Spy motioned ahead of them. A lone figure was approaching through the mist. The path through the woods lead neatly onto the straightaway of the ¼mile track and completed the first 4 miles. "Scout is well ahead of Soldier, but..." he said, letting it trail off.

Scout passed them and tried to breathe a little slower. He was making good time, but his skin was flushed and he was clearly already tired.

Medic looked at his watch and grimaced. Scout was going way too fast for a long run like this, but he made the effort to be encouraging. "You are doing good! Pace yourself, and remember to breaze!"

"Only sixteen miles to go!" Spy added cheerfully.

Scout answered him with a single-finger salute and continued his run. He kept up the pace until a bend in the trail took him out of sight, then let his shoulders slump forward and slowed down a bit.

This was turning out even worse than he thought it would. Sure, he was leaving the bat-shit insane Soldier in the dust—nothing unexpected there—but pulling ahead was a lot more difficult than it should have been, and when he did it Soldier wasn't even panting yet.

...And... he looked like he was smiling?

On top of that, it was still freezing, Scout was running without breakfast or even much water, and since Spy was watching the whole freakin' base was going to find out how this stupid race went.

The path ahead of him arched gently over a hill, but tired as he was Scout knew it was going to feel much harder to climb this time. And the time after that, and the time after that, _and the time after that! _Why did Spy have to remind him how many miles were left?! That guy was a real ass-hat and his mask was dumb and why did he wear that thing anyway it barely covered his face!

Nothing like the RED Spy. _He_ was a smooth professional. _Their_ Spy just wanted to point and laugh at everything. Just their damn luck.

"Psst, laddie!" someone whispered from the bushes. Scout double-jumped on reflex and spazzed for a second before he recognized Demoman.

"Yeah? What's up?" Scout came closer, pretending he wasn't caught by surprise. "S-somethin' you want?" He made sure to act like this was a huge imposition while being secretly grateful for the excuse to catch his breath.

Demoman revealed himself. He was a tall African-Scotsman with a patch over his left eye. Being acclimated to cold climates like this one, he'd just thrown on a light jacket and his usual felt skullcap.

Demoman had a great fondness for booze, gunpowder and money. All these traits combined to convince Scout that he was actually a pirate, and though he'd been told over and over again that this was not the case, Scout still firmly believed it.

None of this was important to Scout at that moment, though. He was focused on what Demo was carrying; a can of Bonk Atomic Punch (Australium Apple flavored) and a large sandwich.

The sandwich, or 'sandvich' as Heavy referred to it, was the same one Scout saw in Medic's lab earlier. Medic hadn't given him a bite despite the Scout's begging and pleading and level-3 puppy-dog eyes, saying that he'd just throw it up later.

Scout had no idea why Demoman of all people would bother to go and get it for him, but he wasn't about to complain! He trotted over to Demo and shoved as much of the food into his face as he could. Demoman had to pull his hands away quickly or risk getting his fingers bitten off.

"Oy! Slow down, lad!" he quietly chastised the kid. "You've got a long way ta go, aye?"

Scout attempted a reply. Demo guessed he was asking what business a Demoman had telling a Scout about running (in the nicest possible way of course).

Demo took a quick glance down the trail Scout had just come from. Soldier wasn't in sight yet, but he had a feeling he wasn't far behind. "Listen," he whispered, "This is a mind game. E's goin' ta get inside yer head, trip ya oop somehow. That or outright _cheat_," he added with a distasteful sneer.

By then the sandwich was gone. Scout knew he shouldn't have eaten the whole thing, but it was so delicious and he was so hungry that he couldn't help himself. "Yeah, ah... thanks," he said, wiping off a few crumbs. "But I totally got this covered, pally. Soldier doesn't stand a Spy's chance in a Pyro factory."

Demoman chuckled, but shook his head. "You're too far ahead this early on, mate. Ya didn't sprint, did ya?" Scout suddenly looked nervous and found the ground interesting. Demoman squinted his single eye. "Did he say somethin' ta make ya angry?"

"N-no. What? No! Huh? I mean... so what? I'll still win!"

"Och, mate..." Demo sighed. "Look, I want ya ta win, but ya got ta be smart. Don' trust 'im, and don' listen ta anythin' he says."

"Ha! No problem," Scout said, grinning and putting the can of Bonk in his pocket. It would be hyper-fizzy when he opened it, but it would be worth it.

Demo offered up his hand for a high-five. Scout obliged him, and with that he was running again in much higher spirits. The Scotsman made himself scarce and headed to the benches to watch the rest of the race with Medic and Spy.

"So, Shpy," Medic said, "Since you vere so adamant on proving ve are not ze same as our originals, you must have had a reason..."

"..." Said Spy mysteriously.

"Vhat differences are zere between you and ze RED—"

Spy turned invisible.

"UWAAAH! ZAT IS CHEATING!" Medic yelled, indignant. He waved at the air around him, unable to find the Frenchman. Spy aggravated the situation by needlessly calling 'Medic' and spamming the 'Spy alert'.

Demo arrived to see Medic flailing around like a frightened dove. He watched this for a minute, then said, "Whot's cheatin', doc?" while trying not to laugh.

"_Spy, gentlemen_," said a disembodied voice.

"Shut up, Shpy..." Medic growled, gathering the remains of his dignity and sitting back on the bench. "Shpy is being himself," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Say... shouldn't you be nursing your hangover?"

"_Medic!_"

Demoman looked deeply offended. "Whot?! Can't ya tell ME from the RED Demoman?!"

Medic appeared helpless before such an accusation. "...But... clones...?"

"_Spy among us_."

Demoman shouted, still suppressing a smile. "Or is it 'cuz I'm Scottish, ya racist bastard?!"

Medic tried to save himself. "I... zat... vhat is...?!"

"_Meeeediiiiiiiic!_"

Demo finally laughed. "Jus' messin' with ya, doc. I don't need ta drink as mooch as Tavish, aye? After all, he's the one what's got ta deal with his past, not me."

Medic was not amused. "I hate you boz," he sighed. "So you are a clone too, eh? Zat makes you, me, Shpy... and who else again?"

"Ahem," Spy said, reappearing on a bench tier above them with yet another cigarette. "Ze clones on our team are myself, ze two of you, ze Engineer, and possibly Pyro," he said, exhaling the smoke. "Zat makes ze clones on ze RED team Scout, Soldier, Heavy, Sniper... and possibly Pyro."

Demoman nodded. "Whenever I forget, I look 'em in the eye, aye? The clones have red eyes... Say, why is that?" he asked Spy.

"Science!" Medic said triumphantly.

Spy shrugged. "Does seem superfluous, doesn't it? Makes my life harder."

Demo furrowed his brow, thinking. "Seems like it would be hard ta do, too..."

"BECAUSE SCIENCE!" Medic yelled, irritated at being ignored.

"Aye, but... _why?_"

"SCIEEEEEEE_EEEENCE!_"

Someone was tromping towards them through the fog. Soldier had finally made it to the ¼ mile track and didn't look the least bit tired after 4 miles.

Seeing him made Demoman recall all the times that Soldier had gone out of his way to pick on him. Since he was preoccupied, he took the opportunity to say, "Aye, well I hope Scoot kicks the old nutter's arse!" very loudly to Medic and Spy.

If Jane Doe heard him, he didn't show it. He passed by all three without slowing down, as if they didn't exist.

Demo growled. Medic blinked. "Vhat vas zat for?" he asked.

"Haven't ya noticed, doc?" Demo replied, staring after Soldier. "He hates me guts. Callin' me names, givin' me extra chores, and I never do well enough on the field..." He scratched his head. "I can't understand it. He didnea use ta hate me..."

He stopped when he noticed the other two were giggling.

"Oo hoo hoo!"

"Ohn honh honh *snort*!"

"Whot's so bloody funny?" Demo asked.

Medic said, "Don't tell me you don't know, Demo? About Jane and Tavish...?"

He didn't. "Know whot?"

"Vhat?! HAAhahahahaa!" Medic laughed, amazed. "You mean you've been ze subject of Herr Soldier's ire all zis time, and you're ze only one who doesn't know vhy?!"

Spy grinned evilly. "Oh, zis is too beautiful! Medic, who should we tell?"

"_Everyone!_" Medic said, going along with one of Spy's shenanigans for once. If gossip was a sport, the TFI mercenaries would be contenders for the Olympics. "Vell, after Soldier beats ze hell out of Shcout, of course."

"Of course," Spy agreed.

Demo was surprised. "Now wait a minute, lads! Soldier's too slow ta catch Scoot!"

"He doesn't need to catch him, he only needs to run him down," Spy said. "Scout may be faster, but zis race is about discipline, and zat is where our 'little bunny' measures woefully short."

"Ja," Medic said. "As much as I'd like to see Soldier eat humble pie, no one can match his endurance, Herr Demo."

Demoman smiled, just a little. "Would ya bet money on it?"

"Ja."

"Bien sûr."

"Then I'll take both of ya on!"


	3. Victory?

_'My stomach hurts. Shouldn't have had that whole sandwich. My legs hurt. Wish they were numb again. It's cold and I won't stop sweating. What mile am I on?'_

Contrary to popular belief—and occasionally irrefutable proof—Scout was not an idiot. There were, after all, several kinds of intelligence. Engineer dominated physics and mathematics while Demoman had chemistry. Medic's forte was biology and Spy mastered all things social, but there was one area in which Scout out-classed them all: creativity.

When faced with a problem, Scout was able to come up with many different solutions to it almost instantly. From there he would examine each one and narrow them down until he came to the answers with the greatest chance of success.

The other mercenaries may be smarter in their own fields, but Scout thought faster and was less predictable than any of them. This was how he got around sentries, Heavies, sticky-traps, Heavies with Medics, Heavies with Medics and Sandviches with sentries around the corner, and his ever-present RED doppleganger.

Sadly at the moment his problem was how tired he was and how much further he had to go, and the only solution was to keep running.

"BoooOOOOoooOOOOORIIIIING!" he yelled into the indifferent woods around him, then he fell back into thinking.

_'Hate life. Hate Soldier. Wish I had music. RED Scout's got music, the dick. Why won't he trade with me? Why ain't we friends?'_

He rubbed his chest, recalling their latest tussle. The RED Scout held a deep and singular hatred for the BLU original version; he had gone so far as to add short, thick spikes to his Sandman that caused his targets to bleed out. He called it the Boston Basher, and the only reason the BLU didn't turn and run at the sight of it was the RED hit himself with the stupid thing as often as anyone else.

Still, last time they ran into each other the BLU was struck right in his sternum, the iron spike punching right through the bone. That wasn't as bad as the sick, sadistic look of grim satisfaction in the RED's red eyes as he watched him die.

_'All my looks and skills and crap and he hates my guts! Maybe being a clone makes you crazy. I mean I'D be grateful to be me! And he ain't got no friends to bug him, or brothers to send money at, or Ma to swing by and kiss him in front of the fellas...'_

_'...Wait...'_

_'...Waaaaait a second...'_

Something about that last thought struck Scout with a familiar feeling. It was the one he got when he stared at the TFI maps and intelligence, or when he was talking at a girl. He could feel there was a connection he should be making here and it was right in front of him... if he could just focus—

_'HOLY CRAP, A HAT!'_

There on the side of the trail was an unguarded cap. It was royal blue and had a winged pin on the front over its shiny black brim.

The Team Captain, one of the most rare and coveted of hats.

Its siren call was irresistible. Scout looked over his shoulder. Soldier was nowhere in sight.

Scout veered off the trail and went to grab it, imagining the looks of envy and possible loot he could collect from trading for it. He put it on his head, but it was too big and covered his eyes for just a second. He lifted the brim...

—Thud, thud, thud, THUD, THUD, **THUD, THUD—**

Scout gaped while Soldier sped passed him. "WHAT THE HELL!?" he yelled, shoving the hat in his pocket and scrabbling to close the distance. Soldier wasn't even close a second ago!

"You... cheated!" Scout gasped once he was alongside him. "You—you used... a shortcut!"

Scout thought he heard a sharp inhale before Soldier exploded. "CHEATED?! YOU SLIMY LITTLE UPSTART! I HAVE NEVER ONCE CHEATED AT ANYTHING IN MY LIFE! HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK IT!? YOU ARE BRAINLESS, WORTHLESS SCUM _AND YOU HATE AMERICA!_" he yelled all at once without slowing down.

A hundred comebacks instantly sprang into Scout's mind, but having little to no air he selected the shortest one.

"You're... crazy!"

"YOU'RE CRAZY!" Soldier shouted, pouting just a little. "Nice hat, by the way."

Scout blinked. He thought he was out of sight when he put on the Team Captain, and it was in his pocket now. How did Soldier know about it? Unless...

"Was that... a _trap?!_"

"Hrrrr... I _caught up_ to you fair and square," Jane Doe growled.

"DAT'S CHEATING, ASSHOLE!"

"NU-UH! NO ONE SAID I CAN'T TOSS ASIDE A HAT WHILE RUNNING!" Soldier yelled back. "Distractions and hats happen on the battlefield! You need to stay focused, soldier!"

"Hmph," Scout hmph'd. "Dat was a... dirty trick."

"THAT'S how you win WARS, son!" Soldier smiled, tapping his helmet. Before Scout could spout an insult or six, Soldier said, "I didn't mean it."

"More like... YOU didn't mean—wait, what?"

"What I said about your mother earlier," Soldier continued. "I didn't mean it. It's not personal, I've never even met your mother and I'm sure she's a fine woman. I pissed you off to make you sprint, to prove a point. You're reckless and stupid when you're angry—"

"YOU'RE reckless and stupid—"

"_Just like the REDs_," Soldier interrupted through gritted teeth. "Their hatred for us grows with every beat of their evil hearts! They aren't a unit like we are, but that makes them a lot more dangerous! Get it?"

"...Uhh..."

"DAMN IT, SON! If we have a weakness ANYWHERE, the REDs will have us by our collective nether-regions! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?!" Soldier yelled, the veins popping out of his neck. "I cannot protect you if you do not FOLLOW MY ORDERS!"

While Soldier's apparent desire to defend his troops might have given Scout a different perspective on things, all he heard from that speech was 'You're a weakness'. This overshadowed any possibility of reconciliation and he threw a fit.

"Oh for—WE AIN'T BABIES!" Scout shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "We die... ALL THE TIME! WHAT are you... 'protectin' us from!? ...Tavish or somethin'?"

"No, it's—yes! Yes, exactly!" Soldier replied, smiling. "Tavish is so angry that I defeated his skirt-twirling butt with COMPLETELY LEGITAMATE MEANS in the war HE STARTED that he has sworn revenge against all of us! You should thank me for distracting him while you get all the easy fights!"

Scout raised an eyebrow. He didn't believe a word. "So dat's... where you're goin' all the time... during battles? You're off hangin' out with... the RED Demo?"

"I DO NOT HAVE TO ANSWER TO YOU!" Soldier roared, his voice raising in volume with every exclamation. "I AM THE COMMANDER! I AM YOUR SUPERIOR! NOW PUT ON YOUR BIG-BOY PANTS AND GET BACK IN LINE, OR WE WILL DO THIS AGAIN AND AGAIN _UNTIL YOU BREAK!_"

Scout was the best at coming up with multiple solutions to a problem. It was here that he realized sometimes the solution was decided for you.

He had to finish this race. He had to win. If he tied or lost, he and every other BLU would be stuck under this crazy old bully's iron boots forever.

With over 2 miles to go, Scout sprinted for all he was worth. Breathing too deeply in this climate hurt his chest so he had to keep it shallow, ignore the cramping in his calves and the burning in his lungs, double-jump over the hilly areas and keep going... Keep going...!

—Thud, thud, thud, THUD, THUD, **THUD, THUD—**

Scout looked behind him just in time to see Soldier thundering on his heels. The world went into slow-motion as Soldier caught up once again in a helmeted blur. It looked like he was running on Bonk, except...

Oh.

Oh, _no_.

At the apex of the trail, the rest of the team had gathered around to bet on the winner.

Engineer was in charge of keeping track of the numbers. There was a large pile of money, hats, and scrap metal on a dispenser he'd built just for that. "Soldier vs. Scout, odds are 4:1! Big money, big money!"

"I didnae say I was gonna take ALL of ya on!" Demo protested, watching all the other BLUs add to the pile of cash. "Ach, so mooch money...!" he muttered, nearly crying. He'd had to put up many of his own hats and equipment to cover the difference. This only enticed them to bid higher.

Sniper chuckled while Engineer smiled coldly at him. "What in Sam Hill were you thinkin', boy?" Engineer asked, eying a cowboy hat with planets orbiting around it.

"FOOK YOU! If ya think ye're bleedin' me dry, I'm gonna shove me sticky launcher right up yer—"

Suddenly Medic yelled, "UWAAAH!" and pointed at the trail. A slim figure half-jogged, half-fell out of the woods and headed to the track.

Something was clearly wrong. Scout's run was more of a stumble and his arrogance and speed were replaced with desperation and constant tripping. The hostile/jovial air vanished as they watched the exhausted young man force himself towards them.

"...I raise tiny baby bet," Heavy said, breaking the silence.

Demoman wouldn't have it. He jumped onto the top tier of the benches and cupped his hands around his mouth. "COME OOOOON! YOU CAN DO IT, LAD!" he yelled.

Scout looked up and flashed them a weak smile. He was so close, so wonderfully close to the finish line! Not even one lap left!

—Thud, thud, thud, THUD, THUD, **THUD, THUD—**

Then Soldier came up from behind him, easily passing him in a flash.

He was _charging_.

"How...?" Sniper asked, scratching his head. Engineer shrugged and Pyro looked quizzically at Demo.

"Hmmph hudduh huh?"

Demo didn't see Pyro at all. He was only staring at Soldier. Charging was a secret technique passed from one DeGroot to another for generations! How did Jane Doe come across it?

He might be a clone, but the BLU Demo felt the fury of ancient Scottish warriors as they cried out for justice all the same. He howled with rage at the sight, screaming the longest, foulest profanities he knew and startling Pyro with a terrified 'huh!'

Meanwhile, Scout reached into his pocket and took out the can of Bonk. Unable to stop running, it took him a few tries to open the can, and when he did it the carbonated drink fizzed all over his hand. He chugged about a third of it and had to toss it aside, but it was enough.

Scout's pupils dilated as the drug hit his bloodstream. The world around him seemed to slow down nearly to the point that it stopped. Running was the easiest thing in the world, it felt like he was moving on air.

The euphoric affect was a nice bonus, too. He was deliriously happy and the pain in his whole body was practically gone.

"WOOHOOHOO!" he crowed, triumphant. Soldier didn't stand a chance now! He surged forward at ludicrous speed, the ground flying beneath his feet, Soldier achingly close... closer...

Jane saw Scout approaching. For the briefest instant, Scout saw his expression of unguarded surprise, and now they were tied, his team's cheers and Heavy's dismay and whatever Demoman was yelling about all in hilarious bullet-time, and now he was in the lead, the end just ahead of him, and _something inside him lurched and OH SHIT_—

After just a few seconds, a mere 20 feet away from victory, Scout jerked and collapsed on his hands and knees. He heaved up the Bonk and what was left of the sandwich while Soldier simply marched across the finish line.

"UWAAAAAH!" Medic shrieked again.

"SANDVICH!?" Heavy cried. "HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN!?"

Demo pulled his collar while Heavy accused Medic of aiding 'loud tiny baby man,' which of course he denied. Demoman quietly asked Spy to borrow his invisibility watch at the exact same moment that Soldier casually strolled up to him and punched him in the jaw.

Caught completely off-guard, Demo was struck so hard that he spun around and fell over. "THAT'S for calling me NUTTY last chapter!" Soldier yelled over him.

Jane took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. He watched the other mercenaries, who were watching him. "Payload tomorrow 08:00," he said clearly and loudly, as though he'd gone for a pleasant stroll, then he walked back to the barracks.

The BLUs collectively turned their attention to Scout. He was standing at the finish line and glaring at them with his arms folded, looking defiant and helpless at once.

Demoman mumbled half-slurred curses at the truck that hit him while Spy high-fived with Medic. Engineer collected everyone's winnings and passed them out, chuckling and saying how utterly predictable the whole affair was. Pyro said "Hudduh," very profoundly.

Sniper only observed as usual. This time Scout was trying not to meet the his gaze.

Sniper wasn't certain how he felt. He'd wanted something like this to happen for so long, for Scout to be put in his place with the rest of them... but once it happened, seeing Scout standing alone and ashamed, he felt no satisfaction.

Pity gnawed at his conscience, irritating him. Maybe he could say something? 'You were this close,' 'Who knew he could charge,' 'If you had been ready,' 'I really almost bet on you there, mate...'

But would any of that help? Wouldn't comfort at this point just encourage Scout to keep fighting?

Sniper stayed silent and left. Scout watched him go, watched everyone else take their loot and walk away from him, certain they were all smug about his defeat and happy to keep him so low in the pecking-order, with Soldier on top punishing him and only him—

Oh wait, Heavy was coming over. He looked upset. While they weren't exactly friends, something besides condescension from anyone would be welcome right now.

"...You stole sandvich," Heavy whispered, a tear in his eye. "Sandvich was for _doktor._"

"Umm—"

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" Heavy roared, running forward to grab and crush Scout.

"AAAH!" Scout screamed as he bolted. For the first time in his life, Scout found it very hard to run from him!


	4. Mischief

Scout was tearing through the RED base like a tornado made of bats and awesome. The RED Heavy made a valiant attempt to guard their intelligence, but he never stood a chance. Scout effortlessly dodged all of Sasha's bullets, leaping around the Russian's head and striking with his bat until the giant went down, bawling for Medic.

Just then, the RED Demoman came upon them. He saw the BLU Scout and started firing grenades. Deciding to teach them both a lesson, Scout double-jumped around the room, landing on the Demo's face and kicking down hard. The Demo fell to the ground and activated his grenades, accidentally killing the RED Heavy and giving Scout a domination.

"Thanks, pally!" the BLU Bostonian said, saluting. He took the RED briefcase and ran off. The Demo could only groan something foul as Scout bopped him with his bat as he rushed by.

Scout headed over the bridge and back to base. The intelligence felt like it weighed nothing at all and his feet barely touched the ground. The RED Sniper tried to shoot him 3 times, but each shot was a wide miss. Sniper saw he was hopelessly outmatched and shot himself. Scout grinned when he heard the domination fanfare for the fourth time that day.

He headed down the corridor, safely within BLU territory. Just around the corner now and he'd cap the winning point. This was going to be a new record! He flew down the stairs and through the hallway—

_Beep, beep, beep!_

Scout gasped. He knew that sound: RED sentries, level three.

_Beep, beep, beep!_

But how did the RED Engineer get into the BLU base? It's impossible! Isn't it?!

_Beep, beep, beep!_

"OH, GOD!"

Scout tried to stop himself, but his unimaginable speed was too much even for him! He skidded forward, right into the range of those monstrous machines. 3 missile launchers and 6 rotating machine-guns locked onto his fragile, helpless form with that all-too-familiar chirrup. All he could do was close his eyes and wait to be torn to shreds—

_**CHOOM, CHOOM, CHOOM!**_

"AAAH!" Scout fell off his bed onto the unforgiving floor. There, awake and sore in a tangle of limbs and sheets, he realized there were two things in his room that didn't belong. The first was a sentry-shaped clock that read 06:00, beeping and mimicking the sound of gunfire as an alarm.

As to the second thing...

"Oof. You gonna sap dat stupid thing or what, man?" Scout asked, struggling to free himself. He managed to sit up but there was no reply.

"SPY, I know you're here! I'm gonna start tellin' the whole base you're in my room while I was sleepin' if you don't freakin—"

Spy decloaked next to the clock. "Hmph," he hmph'd. "How could you tell?"

_Beep, beep, beep!  
_

Scout stood up, then immediately regretted it. His muscles screamed in protest and his joints felt like pieces of metal scraping together. Medic had tried to explain to him why the medigun or dispenser couldn't just magically take away the pain after yesterday's run—something about the body's own resources being limited and blah blah blah—but Scout knew they just didn't think he was worth the effort.

"Oh please," Scout said, crawling back onto his bed, "I'm almost as good at sensin' you suits as Pyro."

_Beep, beep, beep!_

"I see," said Spy. "And could you sense ze colour of my suit as well? What if I were ze RED Spy?"

"Eh, it ain't like either of you are a threat ta me," Scout replied smugly. "What is it you do around here again? While I'm cappin' points and stealin' intel?"

_Beep, beep, beep!_

"And would you KILL dat freakin' thing already?! What's it even DOIN' here?"

Spy sneered as he turned a dial on the clock, turning off the alarm. "Our Engineer zought it would be funny give you zis as a present. Oh, do not go back to sleep. We have a payload mission today."

Scout groaned and burrowed further under his pillow. The thought of pushing a heavy, live bomb up miles and miles of steep tracks was terrible enough on a normal day, and now he could barely move his legs. "What're YOU doin' in here, den?"

Spy chuckled. "I was wondering if you'd be up for a bit of mischief." Most of the time, when things were a little less tumultuous within their ranks, Spy and Scout would pull pranks on their teammates. This time Scout laughed bitterly.

"What? After you threw me under the freakin' bus like all the others?! Man, I thought we were cooler dan dat! I thought YOU were cooler! Way ta let Solly freakin' wail on me, asshole! Go die, go... get set on fire like you always do. Jesus Christ."

Scout punctuated his speech by throwing his pillow at Spy, who easily dodged it. He studied the young man for a moment, then said, "Zere was nozing I could do... and my sappers wouldn't fit ze clock—"

"BULL SHIT!" Scout yelled, jumping up to stand on his bed. "ONE other person on my side woulda made ALL THE DIFFERENCE! YOU freakin' SAT dere! You even—what was with tellin' me how many miles I had left, huh!?"

He reached for his Sandman and pointed it at Spy. "Gimme ONE good reason I shouldn't bash your skull in, _traitor._"

"...I was hoping you would give up. Save yourself some pain," Spy replied coolly. "But, if you are so determined to, eh... upset ze status quo, how would you like to ruin Soldier's day?"

"...I'm listenin'."

A little while later, Demoman was expressing his frustration with recent events to Soldier in the BLU War Room. He did this by getting drunk first and screaming at the top of his lungs.

"YA CAN'T FOOL ME! I WASN'T CLONED YESTERDAY, YA BLOODEH CHEATER!"

"GET OUT OF HERE UNTIL YOU PUT THE SKIRT AWAY AND WEAR SOME GODDAMN PANTS!" Soldier yelled back just as loudly.

"IT'S! A! KILT!" said Demoman for the thousandth time. "YOU _KNOW_ THA'! AND ya know ANCIENT, FORBIDDEN DEGROOT SECRETS!"

"You mean the ancient DeGroot secret of _running really fast for a few seconds?_" Soldier replied, grinning. "How many generations of LOSERS did it take before your ancestors thought of THAT one?!"

Demo threw his empty bottle of scrumpy against the wall, shattering it. "YOU WERE _CHARGIN'!_ ONLY DEGROOTS KNOW HOW TA DO IT, AND HE WOULD NEVER TELL YA! SO WHAT DID YOU DO?! DID YA TORTURE HIM!? _I BET YA DID, YA SOULLESS—_"

"I AM IN COMMAND HERE! THIS TEAM IS MINE! I do not need to answer to YOU!" Soldier shouted, stomping his steel-clad boot. "Take it up with the REAL Tavish DeGroot if you're so damn concerned! I HAVE A BATTLE TO PLAN!"

The BLU Demo would never consort with the original RED, and Jane knew it. Weaponless, hammered, and unable to think of a retort, the Demo coughed up a few more slurred swears and left the office.

When he stepped into the hallway, he saw two BLU Scouts standing there. "Huh? Whu...?" he said, blinking and rubbing his eye before looking again.

No, wait, there was only one Scout. And Scout was the reason any of this was happening.

Demo sniffed. "S... so many hats... They were me favorites...!" he choked, then charged down the hall to drown his liver in booze.

Scout watched him go in a staggering blur. "Uh... well, dat happened," he said, then took a look inside the War Room. Soldier was writing on the map outlining where they would be going through enemy territory. He had his back to Scout and was muttering to himself looking at notes, circling areas he suspected sentries and the RED Heavy would be waiting for them.

...Then he sighed and just stood there. Jane's broad shoulders slumped and he rubbed his eyes. Scout was surprised; suddenly the imposing Soldier looked so old and tired. Maybe Spy's plan wasn't such a good idea...

Soldier turned when he heard someone cough behind him. He saw Scout and smiled. "Goooood morning, son!" he said congenially. "Did you want to get some more miles in before today's mission? Or are you ready to throw your body onto the cart while the rest of us do the real fighting?"

Scout's single shred of sympathy instantly vanished. "_I _do most of the pushin,' man..." he said, scowling.

"Ha, you sure like to pretend!" Soldier replied, turning back to the map and chuckling at his own joke. "We don't have time for me to beat more sense into you, so say whatever smart-ass thing you rehearsed last night and then get ready to move out."

Scout was about to insist that he didn't rehearse _anything_ because he was just _naturally funny_, but then he was struck with an idea and whispered it to Spy.

"What are you muttering back there?" Soldier sighed, not really interested.

"SIR! Just like to say it was an honor training with you, and I can't wait to bask in the glow of your leadership today, SIR!"

Soldier straightened. "...What are you playing at...?" he said, slowly looking again. He saw a Scout standing there, saluting. "What the hell—SPY! SPY IN THE BASE!" Soldier yelled, leaping at him.

"EEK!" Scout (or Spy) yelled, doing his best to avoid the furious American. It didn't last long; Soldier had him by the throat in a few seconds and pinned him against the wall.

"SNEAKING INTO BLU BARRACKS IS AGAINST REGULATION 34-26! I AM GOING TO PUNCH THE _FRENCH_ RIGHT OUT OF YOUR BODY AND GIVE WHAT'S LEFT TO TFI! WHEN THEY'RE DONE YOU WON'T EVEN—"

Soldier couldn't finish the rest of his threat. The real Scout had snuck up behind him from under the table and taken off his helmet. Jane instantly went silent and froze, like he'd been shut off...

(The rest of this chapter will be a comic ;)


End file.
